


Nessa

by midnightsnapdragon



Category: The Bone Season - Samantha Shannon
Genre: Bittersweet, Epilogue, Gen, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23547172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightsnapdragon/pseuds/midnightsnapdragon
Summary: Many years after the war, a girl meets an lamp-eyed stranger, and he tells her a story.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 9





	Nessa

**Author's Note:**

> _Saoirse_ is pronounced "ser-sha." It means _freedom._ ([x](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saoirse_\(given_name\)))
> 
> I apologize in advance, and take full responsibility, for any linguistic inaccuracies. I used Google Translate for Irish-to-English, and as there is no point in being angry with a monster of a multinational corporation, better to be angry with me for making use of their dubious services. I'll put translations to English in the end notes.
> 
> This fic was written while listening to the following songs on repeat:
> 
> 1\. [The Wonders of the Universe (Cristian Onofreiciuc)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ozYu7hW249Y)
> 
> 2\. [The Girl and the Birch (Dario Marianelli)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=guXflg2h9Zg)

The little girl hurtled into the meadow just as the sun winked out behind the treetops, already knowing she was late. She didn’t have a watch – Mama said she wouldn’t get one until she could prove she was responsible enough not to drop it somewhere, as if she were a _child_ – but she knew the forest, and she knew its moods. The sky was turning a deep lilac colour, throwing the meadow into smoky dusk, and the shadows so thick they seemed to reach for her skirts with long, twining fingers. Nightfall was coming, and when it did, she really would be in trouble.

But the girl wasn’t afraid of the dark; if anything, she was afraid of the slating she was in for when she got home. She’d promised to pick dandelions for her grandmother’s medicine, but instead of doing as she was told, she’d gotten distracted playing in the woods all day and forgotten about it.

Again _._

Every time, Mama would scold her for dawdling outside with the foxes and the fair folk. And every time, the girl would draw herself up, full of offended pride, and say, “I wasn’t _dawdling._ I was looking for my sunlit zone.” She’d always thought it must look like the forest she loved so much. But she didn’t have the sight, like her grandmother did. She would never know. So of course it looked like dawdling to Mama.

Catching her breath, she hunkered down in the tall grass to pick a few dandelions. She was determined not to go back empty-handed. Then her gaze snagged on something she hadn’t noticed before.

There was a man in her meadow.

She gasped. Hearing it, the stranger turned his head. And she saw at once that her eyes had tricked her. She had thought – because of the dwindling light, and his ordinary coat, and the way he stood with his arms relaxed at his sides – that he might be one of the grownups from town, but he wasn’t. She knew all their faces, and besides, _they_ were all human.

Too late, she clapped her grubby hands over her mouth.

The stranger watched her in silence. He had eyes like windows in a witch’s house, fire-bright and luminous. He seemed to be waiting for her to speak first.

She carefully took her hands from her mouth and said, _“Cé tusa? Ní fhaca mé riamh tú roimhe seo.”_

“Forgive me,” replied the stranger, in a voice like muted thunder. “I do not speak Irish.”

“Oh,” she said, baffled. “Well, that’s okay. We can speak English.” When he said nothing in reply, she made another tentative. “Are you lost? Town’s over that way, just past the woods.”

“I am aware. Having travelled here during the war, I know the lay of the land, as you say. Although it is certainly in a better state now than it was then.”

The girl’s eyes went wide. Yellow eyes, giant stature, fancy talk. She knew exactly what kind of monster was in her meadow.

“I’ve heard about you,” she said in a hushed voice. “You’re one of them far-siders.”

Her grandmother had told her about them, in fragments and stories. They had been in the war. They had _started_ the war. No one liked to talk about it, especially not in Ireland, where the word _anchor_ still made people flinch. And no one had seen one in ages – apparently, they hated humans even more than they hated red flowers.

But everyone knew about them, even kids like her. Far-siders. Otherworlders. There was another word, but she couldn’t recall it just then.

“Far-siders,” the stranger repeated thoughtfully. “I have not heard the term.”

The girl could hardly contain herself. “You’re from the other world, the one where nothing grows. You help people get across when they die. And you’re afraid of these!”

She thrust her hands toward him, palm-out. The stranger’s eyes fell to her wrists. They were wreathed in twin bangles of scarlet flowers.

“Yes,” he admitted. “If you touched those flowers to my skin, they would burn me. Fortunately” – he lifted his gloved hands, mirroring her pose – “I came prepared.”

He was right. There was nothing of his skin exposed, except his face, and that was much too high for her to reach anyway. “Well,” she said, frowning, “I guess if you _promise_ to be good, I won’t try to get you.”

“Thank you.”

“Because I would, you know. I’m not scared of far-siders.”

“I believe you.” His stonelike face sent eerie shivers down her spine. “What is your name, child?”

“Saoirse.”

“You are amaurotic, are you not?”

She’d heard that word before, but could never remember what it meant. “What’s that?”

“It means that you are not clairvoyant.”

“Oh. No, why?”

“Rephaim cannot prey on amaurotics. I find it curious that you still wear the red flower on your wrist.”

“Mama says they’re good luck. And protection.”

“I see.”

“She used to put pollen in my hair, too. But she had to stop when I got allergies.”

“Your mother is a very wise woman.”

Saoirse couldn’t tell if he meant wise to stop using pollen, or wise to have thought of it in the first place. “Are there any more of you?” she asked, scanning the meadow.

The far-sider glanced around, too. “Nearby? No. Not to my knowledge.”

“No one’s going to believe me when I say I met a far-sider. Your lot never come here anymore. To this side, I mean, not Ireland.”

“That is true. We seldom travel to this plane except in dire circumstances.”

Saoirse grimaced again. “What?”

The stranger clasped his hands behind his back. “We only come here,” he clarified, “when there is trouble.”

“I know what _dire_ means. You didn’t have to say the whole thing over again. I just didn’t know the last part.”

“Of course. Forgive me.”

“You talk funny, you know that?”

“You are not the first to tell me so.”

Saoirse came a little closer, parting the grass with her hands. This far-sider didn’t seem so bad. Maybe he just wanted someone to talk to, like her. “Are you here because there’s trouble now?”

“No.” He looked over her head again, at something she couldn’t see. “I have a promise to keep.”

“To who?”

“To an old friend. A human,” he said. “I have not seen her in many years.”

Saoirse’s eyes grew wide as saucers. “You’re friends with a _human?”_

“Yes.”

“I thought far-siders hated humans!”

“Hm. And I thought humans hated us.”

“Not all of them.” She looked away shyly, her fingers toying with stalks of grass. “You seem all right.”

“That is high praise indeed.” 

“What’s _your_ name?”

She half-expected him to shake her hand, the way you were supposed to when you were officially introduced. But he only inclined his head to her. “I am called Arcturus,” he said, “on this side of the veil.”

“Like the star!”

“Yes.”

It might have been a trick of the light, but Saoirse thought she saw a gleam of amusement in those eyes.

“I know all about them,” she declared. “Constellations, I mean. Look, there’s yours.” She pointed up to where stars were emerging in the darkening sky, and he obligingly followed her gaze. “ _Boo-oh-tees._ The Herdsman.” She spun around in place, craning her head. “There’s the Big Bear, and the Crown, and the Small Bear, and the King and Queen …”

“Very good,” said Arcturus. “Do you know their true names as well?”

“You mean the fancy ones? Sure. Cepheus and Cassiopeia and Ursa Minor. Oh!” The stars became a dizzy blur as she stopped spinning, nearly losing her balance. He caught her arm before she could totter off her feet. “And there’s the Swan! But its real name is Cy …” She scrunched up her face, trying to remember. “Cy …”

“Cygnus,” he supplied.

“Yeah, that.” Saoirse stared up at the cross-shaped constellation. “Some people say it’s an anchor, not a swan. But I don’t think it should be an anchor.”

“Why not?”

She gave him an incredulous look. “Because it’s _evil_.”

Arcturus seemed to give this some thought.

“Perhaps,” he conceded. “The symbol of the anchor is certainly fraught with violence. Such a history will not soon be forgotten. But you should not fear it, Saoirse. It was robbed of power long ago.”

“What do you mean?”

“There was once an anchor buried in the heart of Ireland itself. An evil force, as you said. But one human was able to destroy it.” His gaze softened. “I can tell you the story, if you would like.”

She looked nervously at the sky, where the stars were growing brighter. If she stayed out much longer, without a torch or even a jacket to keep her warm, Mama would never let her out of the house again. “I have to get home,” she said glumly.

“Of course.” He must have sensed her dejection. “Perhaps I should accompany you. If you came to any harm on your way, I would feel responsible for having let you go alone. And I would hazard a guess” – his tone was dry, as if this was less guesswork and more utter certainty – “that you cannot see in the dark as well as I.”

Her spirits lifted immediately. “Really? You’ll come with?”

“Yes.”

She beamed. Mama would _have_ to believe her when she showed up with a far-sider in tow. “Okay,” she said. “Come on, then.”

Leaving the constellations to find their path across the sky, Saoirse led Arcturus out of the meadow, floundering a little through the waist-high grass. Each of his strides must have equaled three of hers, but he slowed enough that she didn’t have to run ahead of him to show the way.

“Tell me the story,” she said, once they’d found the right trail at the edge of the forest. “Please?”

“Very well.” He paused, perhaps to gather his thoughts. “Once upon a time, there was an anchor embedded in the heart of the world. For many hundreds of years, it spread its poison through the earth, killing crops and livestock and bringing grief to the doorstep of every family.”

“Wait,” she interrupted. “I thought you said the anchor was in the heart of Ireland?”

Another pause. “Then I have given away the ending by mistake. I apologize.”

Saoirse preened to herself. Mama always said she never let anything get past her. She would have to listen carefully in case he made any more mistakes.

“There is a girl in this story. One rather like you,” he said, glancing down at her. “She was born in Ireland, and she loved her country with all her heart. She wanted more than anything to uproot the anchor that had stolen the life and strength of her people. And so one day, when she came of age, she bid her family goodbye and set off to destroy it.”

It was getting harder to see. Saoirse stumbled over tree roots and loose stones, but Arcturus never faltered. His eyes shone like jacklights in the dark. More than once, he had to catch her by the arm and set her back on her feet.

“She walked down the road for three days and three nights. On the fourth morning, she came to a colossal stone tower, so tall that the tip was hidden in the clouds. She could not go around it, for on either side of the tower was a wall that –”

“You have to give her a name,” said Saoirse, cutting him off. “You can’t just call her _‘She.’_ ”

He paused. “No?”

“No.”

“I have no great talent for choosing names. Perhaps you had better give her one yourself.”

Mollified, she thought about it for a minute. “Hmm.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “Well, my mom almost named me Nessa instead of Saoirse. I always liked that name.”

“Very well,” he agreed. “We will call her Nessa.”

In the story, the tower was flanked by a wall that stretched far beyond the horizon, toward the very ends of the earth. Nessa could not go over it or around it. If she wished to continue down the road and complete her quest, she would have to go through the tower itself.

“But the tower was inhabited by terrible monsters,” Arcturus went on. “When she knocked on the door, they seized her and dragged her before their queen, who liked to collect young girls. The queen looked at Nessa and said: Young Nessa, I know who you are. You wish to uproot the anchor and steal back the strength of your people. But the anchor has served me well over the years, giving me prisoners and slaves to do my bidding. I shall have to put a stop to your little quest.

“And so Nessa was locked away in the highest room of the tower, that the queen might feast on her whenever she pleased.

“One of the monsters was chosen to guard her door day and night. His task was to ensure that she did not escape her prison. At first Nessa despised him,” Arcturus said, pushing a thorny branch out of the way so that Saoirse could duck underneath. “Who would not despise their jailor? But she began to talk to him through the locked door, and she learned that he, too, was a prisoner – the prisoner of a curse.”

“What _kind_ of curse?”

“He was confined to the tower, doomed to serve the queen of monsters for as long as he lived. Much like Nessa herself. Eventually, the two of them made a bargain to set each other free. You may well be surprised, for it is far from easy to pity a monster – but suffering is suffering, and Nessa was kind. She broke the monster’s curse. And in return, he gave her the keys.”

“How?”

“I suppose he would have had to unlock the door first.”

“No,” said Saoirse, with exaggerated patience, “I mean how did she break the curse?”

“With a kiss,” said Arcturus.

“Oh.” Abashed, she fell silent again. It was quite obvious in hindsight. Things were always restored with a kiss in fairy tales. She hoped he wasn’t annoyed with her for interrupting so much.

“With the keys, Nessa was able to reach the base of the tower, where she challenged the queen of monsters for her freedom. But the queen only gave a scornful laugh. You cannot defeat me, she said to Nessa. Nor can you uproot the anchor. Give up, and I will overlook this disobedience. Give up and I will spare your life.

“And Nessa said: _No.”_

“ _No?”_ echoed Saoirse.

“No. She knew that life as a prisoner was no kind of life. Instead of surrendering, she bested the queen in battle and escaped the tower. That,” Arcturus said, “was the first trial.”

Night had fallen by then, plunging the woods into full darkness. She reached out and fisted one hand in his long coat, in case she tripped over something in the dark.

“Nessa followed the same road for another three days and three nights. On the fourth morning, she arrived at a bottomless ravine that stretched far beyond the horizon, toward the very ends of the earth. She could not go through it or around it. If she wished to continue down the road and complete her quest, she would have to cross the bridge.

“But as soon as she approached it, she found someone standing in her way: the King of Wands.

“Young Nessa, he said, I know who you are. You wish to uproot the anchor and steal back the strength of your people. But the anchor has served me well over the years, filling my pockets with silver and gold. I shall have to put a stop to your little quest.

“So the King of Wands challenged Nessa to a battle of wits. He would ask her one question, and if she answered correctly, he would allow her to pass unharmed. If she did not, she must forfeit her quest and serve him for the rest of her days. Nessa agreed to these terms –”

“But that’s _stupid_ ,” Saoirse burst out. “He’s obviously going to trick her. Why would she say yes?”

“That, I cannot tell you. Perhaps she knew that she could win. Or perhaps,” Arcturus mused, “she was too proud to refuse. A challenge is a challenge, and Nessa was clever. But the King of Wands had no intention of letting her cross that bridge. Instead of asking her a proper riddle, he smiled a cunning smile and said: What is my name?

“Nessa was silent for a long time. She knew she’d fallen into a trap. The King’s name was a secret that he alone knew, and no matter what she guessed, she would lose.

“He saw uncertainty dawn on her face and smiled again. You cannot defeat me, he told her. Nor can you uproot the anchor. Give up, and I will make you my most trusted servant. Give up and I will spare your life.

“And Nessa said: _No.”_

“No?” echoed Saoirse.

“No. Nessa knew that life as a servant was no kind of life. Here is my answer, she said to him: Your name is yours alone, and can belong to no one else. And because she had spoken true, the King of Wands was forced to let her cross the bridge unharmed. That,” said Arcturus, “was the second trial.”

The path took them around a thick, enormous oak tree. We’re almost home, Saoirse thought. Maybe if I ask him to stay for dinner, he’ll say yes. Surely Mama wouldn’t mind.

“On the other side of the bridge was a vast, barren plain. Nessa had crossed into Ireland.” His pace slowed, as if this part of the story must not be rushed. “But this was not the Ireland she knew. Instead of lush green earth, she found a desert waste that stretched far beyond the horizon, toward the very ends of the earth. Nessa followed the empty road for three days and three nights, and on the fourth morning, she found what she had been searching for.

“There was the anchor, half-buried in the ground. Blackened veins spread out from around it like ink, seeping into cracks in the ground. That was the poison which had sapped the life and strength of the world since before she was born.

“Nessa took a step closer. She would save her family. She would free her people. She would rip the anchor from the heart of Ireland if it was the last thing she ever did.

“But just as she reached out to touch it, a dark hooded figure appeared in her way. It was Death.

“Young Nessa, he said, I know who you are. You wish to uproot the anchor and steal back the strength of your people. But the anchor has served me well over the years, gorging my shores with the dead and soon-to-die. I fear I must put a stop to your little quest.

“And Death stepped back with a flourish, as if inviting Nessa to proceed. She understood at once. The anchor itself was poisoned. If she touched it, she would be poisoned too, and Death would claim her for his own.”

Saoirse stopped walking. “She would _die?”_

Arcturus stopped too, no more than a murky shape in the darkness, and looked down at her with those luminous yellow eyes.

“But a promise is a promise,” he said quietly, “and Nessa was brave. She lay both hands on the anchor and _pulled_.

“The poison was swift and excruciating. First her fingers went black. Then her hands. Then her arms. Death stood aside and watched as Nessa gasped out her pain. She pulled until the rust tore her hands to ribbons, until she thought her heart would burst – but even with all her strength, she could not pry the anchor free.

“Death leaned closer. You cannot defeat me, he whispered to Nessa. Nor can you uproot the anchor. Give up, and I will give you a kinder death than this one. Give up and you will finally know peace.

“Nessa could hardly speak. It hurt too much, and she had a terrible desire to lay down and rest. Anyone else might have given in. But –”

He stopped. Saoirse held her breath, waiting. An owl hooted somewhere in the woods.

“But Nessa,” he said, “did not give in.” His voice had hushed to the point where she was no longer sure she wasn’t imagining it. “She had vanquished the queen of monsters. She had vanquished the King of Wands. And so too would she vanquish Death. Nessa looked him in the eye, and she said: _No._ ”

“No?” whispered Saoirse.

“No. She knew that peace at the cost of surrender was no kind of peace. With the last of her strength, Nessa grabbed Death by the skeletal hand and slammed it down on top of the anchor.

“Death screamed a hideous scream. He tried to wrench his hand away, but she held fast, pressing the bones to the rusted surface of the anchor. Where it touched, the rust thickened, turned black, started to crumble. There was a cracking noise. And the anchor shattered into dust.”

Saoirse’s eyes were as wide as moons.

“That,” said Arcturus, “was the third trial.”

“And then what happened?”

“No one can be certain.” He started down the path again, and reluctantly, Saoirse followed suit. “Some believe that Nessa perished with the anchor. New grass sprang from her body, red flowers from her blood, and the barren desert came back to life. Others prefer to believe that she went home to Ireland. That she lived out the rest of her days in peace.”

Saoirse thought about it for a while. It seemed unfair that Nessa should die after having gone through so much. “I like the second ending better,” she decided aloud.

“Hm. So do I.”

“I have a story, too. Want to hear it?”

“Please.”

Mama’s house was in the clearing just ahead. Saoirse spoke in a rush. “Once upon a time, there was a girl who got kidnapped by the stars. They used to take people from Earth every ten years, nobody knows why. Most of them were cruel, and cold as ice. But there was one who was warm instead. He made sure the girl didn’t freeze to death up in the sky. And when it was time for her to go to war, he let her go.” She paused in case Arcturus wanted to interrupt her, but he didn’t. “And now whenever the girl feels cold or doesn’t know what to do, she looks up at that star, and it makes her feel warm and strong again. The end.”

They emerged into a wide, grassy clearing. A little cottage stood in the centre, with warm light shining through the windows. Starlight gleamed off the curved satellite dish on the roof. There was no sign of either Saoirse’s mother or her grandmother.

“I hope Mama’s not angry with me,” she said nervously. “We’re very late. But look!” She pointed to the stars. “You can see much better now. There’s the King – I mean, Cepheus. See the star at the very tip? That one’s called Errai. He’s a _mean_ star. Ooh!” She swiveled her pointing arm. “And there’s the Dragon! It goes all the way around the Little Bear, see? Look – right over there, where it bends –” She closed one eye, trying to focus on the tiny, almost imperceptible star. “ _That’s_ Alsafi. He saved a girl’s life one time.”

“I know,” Arcturus said softly.

“You do?”

“Yes.” His eyes dimmed, like drowsy fireflies. “Where did you learn so much about the stars?”

“Grandma taught me. She calls them her old friends.” Saoirse stopped, cocking her head to one side. “Do you hear that?”

Somewhere in the woods, a woman was calling out. The voice came closer and closer until a figure burst out of the trees on the other side of the clearing, swinging a torch from side to side. She sounded frantic.

“Saoirse? SAOIRSE!”

“Mama! Mama!” She yanked on Arcturus’s coat, nearly falling over her feet in haste. He allowed her to pull him further into the clearing. “Look what I found!”

When the woman’s torch beam landed on Arcturus, she gasped. _“Saoirse!”_

“It’s okay,” Saoirse said consolingly, but the woman had already dropped her torch and broken into a run across the clearing. “Don’t be scared. He’s a _good_ far-sider.”

“I can’t believe you –” Reaching them, the woman grabbed Saoirse and pulled her into a crushing hug. “You thoughtless child! Your grandmother and I have been looking for you for _hours_.” She pressed her cheek to the top of Saoirse’s head. “We thought you must have been snatched by wolves. And here you are, bold as brass, acting like everything’s all right!”

Saoirse cringed against her mother’s shirt. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be!” She pushed Saoirse to arm’s length and gripped her by the skinny shoulders, looking her in the eye. “Your grandmother was worried sick. You _know_ she mustn’t strain her heart.”

“The fault is mine,” Arcturus cut in.

The woman looked up at him, her expression pinched.

“I met Saoirse in the meadow on my way to your home, and took more time to speak with her than was my right.” He held her gaze, as steady as ever. “I am sorry for having caused you distress.”

Saoirse’s mother didn’t reply. She stared him out, her spine pulled taut, one hand still resting protectively on Saoirse’s shoulder. It was hard to tell if she was stunned by his appearance or speechless with fury.

“Hello, Lyra.”

“What are you doing here?” The words were low-pitched and soft, like if she spoke too loudly, he would melt away into the shadows. “It’s been – my God. It must have been twenty years since I last saw you.”

“Twenty-four, if I am not mistaken.”

“I thought you were gone for good?”

“I was,” he said simply. “But I gave my word that I would return, when the time came. To guide her to the Netherworld.”

Saoirse looked between her mother and the far-sider, dumbstruck. They _knew_ each other? This was supposed to be her surprise for Mama.

“The Netherworld?” Lyra’s face had gone ashen in the starlight. “No, you can’t. It’s not her time. I know her heart isn’t …” She faltered. “It gives her some trouble, but she’s still strong. She walks without a cane. And the voyant kids need her here, there’s no one else to teach them –”

“Peace, Lyra. I will see her through the veil when she is ready, and not before then.”

“Oh.” Her grip on Saoirse’s shoulder started to relax. “Then … you’ll be staying here?”

“Provided you have no objections.” He looked across the clearing again, toward the trees. “She must know by now that Saoirse is safe.” 

“Maybe. I’m not sure. She was doing her radar thing a little further south, but we were both so _worried_ –” This with a pointed look at Saoirse, who hung her head. “What am I going to do with you, _losgann_ _?_ I swear you’ll be the death of me.”

“Saoirse did me a great service today. I may not have found your home at all without her guidance.”

“You found her in the meadow?”

“It would be more accurate to say that she found me. I knew who she was at once,” he said. “The resemblance is remarkable.”

Saoirse glanced up at him through her hair. “You mean I look like Mama?” The thought gave her a little thrill; she thought her mother was the most beautiful person in the world.

Arcturus studied her in the starlight.

“No,” he said. “Like Nessa.”

Before she could ask what he meant, his head snapped up as if he’d heard a gunshot. A heartbeat later, Saoirse’s grandmother emerged on the other side of the clearing, wearing mud-spattered boots and trousers.

“I can’t find her, Lyra. I looked _everywhere_ , but she must be out of range. If you take the car, I’ll call the other towns and –”

Saoirse waved. _“Seo mi, Mhamó!”_

Her grandmother stopped dead. Wisps of gray hair had escaped from her bun and her shoulders were stooped with exhaustion, but her eyes were clear as they roved over Saoirse and Lyra and finally settled on Arcturus. Her lips parted, but nothing came out _._

Saoirse decided that maybe the surprise could be salvaged, after all.

“Arcturus,” she pronounced, “this is my grandma. _Mhamó,_ this is Arcturus. He’s a far-sider.”

This did not produce the desired effect. Saoirse’s grandmother did not run toward them, as Lyra had. She didn’t move at all. She just stood there, looking for all the world as if she were about to cry.

“We have met before,” Arcturus said, very softly. “Hello, Paige.”

The old woman shook her head, as if to break her own reverie, and made her way across the clearing. Saoirse felt a sudden pang of remorse. She didn’t know exactly how old her grandmother was, only that her swollen joints made it painful when she walked a long time, and that she seemed to be getting shorter every year.

As was her temper. The old woman stomped right past Arcturus and bent to look Saoirse in the eye.

“ _Tá an t-ádh leat gur thug tú aoi, nó eile bheadh fearg mhór orm.”_

Saoirse gulped. “ _Ní raibh muid ach ag caint –”_

“ _Chan eil dragh agam._ Your mother and I have been losing our minds. I think a better curfew is in order, don’t you, Lyra?”

“Oh yes,” said Lyra. “Five o’clock at the very latest.”

Saoirse’s expression was of the utmost betrayal. “But that’s not fair! I just – I wanted –”

“You’ll not argue, or the curfew changes to noon.” Her grandmother pointed to the house. “Now get inside. Dinner’s getting cold, but I don’t think you need to heat yours up, Saoirse. Seeing as how you’re grown up enough to run around the woods by yourself at night.”

Lyra tried to draw Saoirse away by the shoulder. The girl threw a woeful look at Arcturus, who hadn’t said so much as a word during the whole exchange. “But …”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” her grandmother said, exasperated. “You’ll see him tomorrow, he’s not going anywhere.”

There was another silence. Arcturus watched with molten eyes, afire with some unrecognizable emotion. Saoirse had the strange thought that her grandmother was deliberately ignoring him. Finally, the old woman gave in and threw him a withering glare.

 _“Are_ you?”

“No,” he said.

“Well, then. That’s that.” She made shooing motions at Lyra and Saoirse. “Off with you, now. The far-sider and I are going to have a talk.”

Lyra steered Saoirse toward the house, shushing her little whines of protest. The girl stole a last look over her shoulder as the door swung shut behind them.

Arcturus stood with his hands by his sides, a towering, carven figure in the starlight. He seemed to be waiting for something. Saoirse’s grandmother looked small and fragile by comparison, a bird whose bones are easily snapped. But as she squared her shoulders and turned toward him, just for a fraction of a second, there was something of Nessa in her face – kind, courageous, clever Nessa, too proud to refuse a challenge, too stubborn to abandon hope; Nessa, who had torn the anchor from Ireland with her bare hands.

Then it was gone. Gently, she swayed forward and sank into him, like a tired child into sleep. Arcturus cradled her to him. One hand came up to hold the back of her head, and he buried his face in her graying hair.

**Author's Note:**

> Nessa, or Ness, was a princess in the Ulster cycle of Irish mythology. Her name means _not easy,_ or _not gentle._ ([x](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ness_\(Irish_mythology\)))
> 
> Reviews are always appreciated.
> 
> ...
> 
> **Translation notes:**
> 
>  _Cé tusa? Ní fhaca mé riamh tú roimhe seo._ Who are you? I've never seen you before.
> 
>  _Losgann_ – Frog (Scottish Gaelic)
> 
>  _Seo mi, Mhamó!_ Here I am, Grandma!
> 
>  _Tá an t-ádh leat gur thug tú aoi, nó eile bheadh fearg mhór orm._ You’re lucky you brought a guest, or else I would be very angry.
> 
>  _Ní raibh muid ach ag caint._ We were just talking.
> 
>  _Is cuma liom._ I don’t care.


End file.
